Saturday, February 23, 2008
Frank Discusses The Beauty Of Wood
One day, when I was in fourth grade, my teacher decided that my classroom disruptions had become more than she wanted to deal with. I was, therefore, sent to the principals office. This is always a scary situation for a fourth grader. It is kind of like the perp walk for the elementary school set. It was especially troublesome for me because the principal had promised me that, the next time I was asked to visit him, that there would be dire consequences.
I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you what the phrase “dire consequences” meant to a fourth grader in the early seventies.
I shant go into details of the encounter with the head of my school since they aren’t really relevant to this story. Suffice to day, the principal took out his trusty paddle, stood me up, bent me over, and gave me a good, solid swat.
I did not enjoy the experience. The paddle stung, but not overly so. It was over the seat of my pants. It was in the privacy of the principals office. I did not cry, although I very nearly did so. I was embarrassed because I was “bad,” and I wanted to forget the entire experience.
And yet, I have not forgotten it. In fact, in the years that followed, I re-enacted the experience in my imagination many, many times. Eventually, I began to replay the paddling upon myself as I reached adolescence. The paddling would became more severe, the pants came down, the swats went from one to five to as many as I could manage before my arm became tired.
So why am I writing about this experience? No, my dear friends, it is not because I believe that it was the genesis of my becoming a life-long spanko. Rather, the purpose of this little episode is to help explain why my favorite spanking implement is a nice, wooden paddle.
Nothing satisfies my spanking urges more than feeling fine, shiny piece of lumber cracking against my ass (not to be confused with the crack of my ass, the thought of which probably makes you nauseous, and so I apologize for mentioning it). For me, no position says “spank me” more than being bent over, bottom bared, waiting for the board to be vigorously applied. I love the sound of a paddle striking its target. I adore the instant, searing, deep sting that comes when I feel a paddle on my waiting backside. Even the color of a paddled bottom seems more fiery, more angry. It just looks like it I imagine that a spanked bottom should look like.
I realize that, other than a thin cord or whip, no other spanking implement can inflict as much pain or cause as much damage as a board. It is understandable that many dedicated spankos are wary or even fearful of a wooden paddle. But, for me, it’s give me wood or give me … well… since I’m not Patrick Henry, death might be a bit extreme. Actually, any other implement will do just fine. But I find a paddle most satisfying. It feels, and it makes me feel, utterly ……..
(to be continued).
I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you what the phrase “dire consequences” meant to a fourth grader in the early seventies.
I shant go into details of the encounter with the head of my school since they aren’t really relevant to this story. Suffice to day, the principal took out his trusty paddle, stood me up, bent me over, and gave me a good, solid swat.
I did not enjoy the experience. The paddle stung, but not overly so. It was over the seat of my pants. It was in the privacy of the principals office. I did not cry, although I very nearly did so. I was embarrassed because I was “bad,” and I wanted to forget the entire experience.
And yet, I have not forgotten it. In fact, in the years that followed, I re-enacted the experience in my imagination many, many times. Eventually, I began to replay the paddling upon myself as I reached adolescence. The paddling would became more severe, the pants came down, the swats went from one to five to as many as I could manage before my arm became tired.
So why am I writing about this experience? No, my dear friends, it is not because I believe that it was the genesis of my becoming a life-long spanko. Rather, the purpose of this little episode is to help explain why my favorite spanking implement is a nice, wooden paddle.
Nothing satisfies my spanking urges more than feeling fine, shiny piece of lumber cracking against my ass (not to be confused with the crack of my ass, the thought of which probably makes you nauseous, and so I apologize for mentioning it). For me, no position says “spank me” more than being bent over, bottom bared, waiting for the board to be vigorously applied. I love the sound of a paddle striking its target. I adore the instant, searing, deep sting that comes when I feel a paddle on my waiting backside. Even the color of a paddled bottom seems more fiery, more angry. It just looks like it I imagine that a spanked bottom should look like.I realize that, other than a thin cord or whip, no other spanking implement can inflict as much pain or cause as much damage as a board. It is understandable that many dedicated spankos are wary or even fearful of a wooden paddle. But, for me, it’s give me wood or give me … well… since I’m not Patrick Henry, death might be a bit extreme. Actually, any other implement will do just fine. But I find a paddle most satisfying. It feels, and it makes me feel, utterly ……..
(to be continued).
